Bound In Leather 4 | trunk, heels, boots

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Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. We both jumped. Fifi's voice, out in the hall, spoke.

"Here is Miss Nicki, madame."

I don't know just what I expected to see, maybe Fifi pushing a large trunk on a little wheelbarrow of some sort. But instead, when the door opened, I saw quite a small dark green trunk, more of a foot-locker, up on one end, supported by a pair of singularly lovely legs in dark brown thigh-boots. Guided by Fifi, this vision strutted into the room, taking ,steps not much over six inches long. The reason for the short steps was evident. The extremely thin heels on the boots were over eight inches high. But each pace, though tiny, was perfect, not a trace of a tremor at the ankles. The knees quite straight and firm the rounded toes of the beautifully fitting boots being pointed so far down that the walk was entirely on the toes, the heels touching the ground only when the occupant of the boots stood still.

The walk was light as thistledown and very reminiscent of a ballet dancer, moving on tiptoe. The trunk was just large enough to enclose a girl from the top of her head to the fork of her legs, allowing just enough width for her shoulders. There was no trace of an opening in the lid, which, of course, faced front, so the occupant was quite blind. But she gave no sign of it. Fifi sort of aimed her in the general direction of Vicki's chair and gave her a slight push. She minced forward, stopping, seemingly by instinct, a few feet in front of the chair.

"Nicki dear, can you hear me?" Vicki asked.

The trunk bowed slightly.

"I have to ask her," Vicki explained in an aside to me. "Sometimes she wears a discipline helmet with heavy padding over the ears and she can't quite hear a sound"

Then she turned back to the trunk.

"Did Fifi tell you what I did tonight?"

The trunk pivoted back and forth in what was obviously a movement of 'no'

"Well, you know I went to the theatre?"

"Yes," bowed the trunk.

"While I was there, I sat next to a very nice young man, I made an excuse to borrow his pencil and drop it. He looked like he might be interested in girls like us. So when he dived for the pencil. I pulled up my skirt and showed him my boots. As a result, he not only came back to the house to meet you, but he's got me tied to this chair and he's looking at you as though he'd love to eat you. If you want to say 'hello,' he's just to the right of me here.'

The trunk turned in my direction and the legs did a very nice curtsey.

"Hello, I'm Ted Walk," I introduced myself. "If the rest of you is one tenth as pretty as those boots, well-wow!"

At this point Fifi who had been standing rather proudly in the background, stepped forward and asked,

"May Fifi make a suggestion, madame?"

"Certainly, Fifi, what is it?" asked Vicki. "Perhaps you and Monsieur Ted would like some coffee? Miss Nicki would make a lovely coffee table."

Casually, she took a corner of the trunk and manoeuvred Nicki around so that she stood sideways to Vicki, four or five feet to her right. Then she tapped the trunk and ordered,

"Rigid Mam'selle." Turning to me she suggested, "Perhaps Monsieur Ted fill lay her flat on her back? My corset is too tight for me to take the weight."

So I stepped behind Nicki, put my hands on the trunk and pulled her gently backward. She came toward me, holding her legs quite stiff, so that it was a simple matter to lay the trunk on its bottom on the floor, with Nicki's pretty legs sticking out of it, off to the right. Fifi bustled out to get the tray, and I took a moment to look at the trunk. The lock side was toward Vicki and the clasps and lock were securely closed. The girl inside had not a chance of escaping. Her legs, which thrust through two holes cut in the right-hand end were absolutely perfect and set off by the skin fitting brown boots that laced very tightly from toe-cap to the top of the leg. The heels came down to bases smaller than a dime, while the bearing part of the sole was not much over an inch, allowing no more than the first joints of the toes to touch the ground. Since the pretty, high-arched feet were by no means large to begin with, some such arrangement was necessary to carry heels of such extreme height. The pretty maid came back with the tray, making a very pretty picture in her own right, with her lovely corseted figure in gleaming black satin contrasting so sharply with the mesh-covered legs and sandalled feet on their six-inch spindle heels.

She put the tray on a side table produced a lace cloth, spread it carefully over the trunk and then put the tray on it. Then she hurried out again, murmuring something about "firing Mam'selle's legs." I poured two cups of coffee and added sugar and cream for Vicki, as she requested. By this time Fifi returned, carrying a nickel-plated metal bar, about four feet long, with an ankle locked in the cuffs, her legs spread incredibly wide apart. Fifi had to use a little force to get the bar in place.

"I know how impatient you are to unlock that trunk," Vicki smiled suddenly. "I guess you'd better begin the Grand Opening by taking the coffee things off the trunk."

Eagerly, I did as she told me and then she advised,

"Better unlock that Leg Stretcher and take it off next. You'd have a tough job getting her out of the trunk with that in place, since she couldn't help you."

Again I obeyed. The pretty legs began moving and twisting about, gently at first, then more freely.

"Getting the kinks out," Vicki explained, in answer to my enquiring glance. "That position gets very uncomfortable in just a few minutes." Using the other key, I unlocked the main clasp of the trunk and opened the ones at each end.

Then, my heart beating with excitement, I threw back the lid. Instinctively, I suppose, one looks first at the face under conditions like these. But instead of a face, I saw a mask, a beautifully made mask, in flesh-coloured suede. It was obviously skin-tight and fitted the contours beneath it without a wrinkle. The eyeholes were little more than narrow slits, interestingly turned up at the outer corners and fringed with long artificial lashes of black. Thin brows of black arched above them and the eye-lid area was even shadowed in green and there was touches of rouge, or an imitation, on the high, prominent cheek-bones. The hair was represented by a wig of stiffened silk fringe, in a brassy blonde shade and set in a mass of curling ringlets all over the head. The faintly smiling lips, in deep red, were simply made of a piece of coloured kid, sewn in the proper place. The arms, tightly gloved in gleaming black kid, right up to the shoulders, where they were met by very brief but wide sleeves on the blouse, were folded and tightly strapped to rest in the corseted arch of the small of the back.

"But-but-" I fumbled, in my amazement, "Nicki must be an utter and complete bondage enthusiast."

"Oh, she is," Vicki agreed. "I'm pretty strong in that line myself. I like nothing better than being dressed and bound like you see me now-or even more stringently if my husband is around. But Nicki wears costumes, insists on bondage and silencers that would make me a wreck."

Quickly, I bent over and began unfastening the straps that held her so tightly bound in the trunk, starting with the one around her head and working down. When I had unfastened the last one, I asked,

"How do I get her legs clear of the end of the trunk here? Those holes are a pretty tight ft around her thighs."

"That upper part of the end there slides up and out. Works sort of like a pillory " Vicki explained.

In a second, I had the part mentioned pulled up and free. Since the trunk was such a tight fit and her costume so stiff anyway, I puzzled for a moment as to how to get her out. Then I remembered how I had laid her down, trunk and all, and simply decided to reverse the process. Telling her to hold herself rigid, I lifted behind her wigged head with my left hand and when she was clear of the trunk, I slipped my other one behind her waist and continued lifting.

In a second, she was upright, poised on the tips of her toes and her towering heels. In a moment she stepped back a little, spun lightly on her heels and presented her rigidly strapped arms

"What does she want now?" I asked, "to have me unstrap her arms?"

"Probably, under the circumstances. But you'd better ask her" Vicki answered. "It's quite possible that she simply wants the straps tightened."

"Well?" I asked the intriguing figure in front of me, "Should I take the straps off?"

She nodded moving even closer to me. It was quite a tussle to get the straps off, because they had been pulled so tightly. I was sure that even after they were off, it would be sometime before she could use her arms.

After all when they have been held rigidly in one position for a number of hours, and by very tightly adjusted bonds, it stands to reason that they would be completely numb. So I was greatly astonished to see that she had full use of them immediately. Turning to face me and stepping back a foot or two, she placed her gloved hands on her tiny waist, put her feet together, and posed for my approval. She looked utterly delightful. Then she minced, with surprising quickness and grace, considering the height of her towering heels, over to the tray of bondage material. She picked up a big wad of absorbent cotton and a roll of adhesive tape; then she started for where her mother sat, helplessly tied to her chair. The latter saw her coming and stated, with an attempt to command,

"Nicole, I will not allow you to gag me. Put that stuff back immediately?"

It was just as though she had not spoken, for all the attention her daughter paid. As she neared her mother, she beckoned to me. Glad to assist, I hurried to her side

"Ted," pleaded Vicki, "you'll listen to me, won't you? You won't let her gag me, will you?"

"You're damn right I will!" I grinned, heartily, "your lovely daughter has impressed me so much with her charming silence that I'm convinced that, lovely as you are, you'll be lovelier yet with a gag in your mouth."

"Well, try to get it in!" snapped the helpless woman, writhing fruitlessly in her chair and she clamped her jaws tight together.

To my mind, this would have presented quite a problem, since the jaw muscles are enormously strong and if she didn't want to open her mouth, it would be tough making her do it. But her daughter was serenely confident, she passed behind the other woman's chair, beckoned me to stand in front and gave me the wad of cotton, gesturing that I should compress it as small as possible.

Eagerly, I did so. Nicki placed her thumbs against her mother's cheeks, just about opposite the hinges of the jaw; then she placed her first fingers, one against each nostril and pressed gently. Result, no air through the nose. In a few seconds, Vicki countered by parting her lips in a sort of grin, breathing between her clenched teeth. The tightly gloved hands met this challenge by closing over the mouth, while keeping the nostrils closed. Vicki squirmed and fought for a few seconds, but she had no chance, she had to give in and open her mouth. Immediately, her daughter removed her fingers but thrust in very powerfully with her thumbs so that her victim could not close her mouth without biting her cheeks. After letting her draw a couple of gasping breaths, she nodded to me. I surmised, quite rightly, that I was to pack the cotton in place. This was a delightful job. I'd never gagged a woman before, but could see that I had been missing a treat. She fought me with her tongue at first, thrusting the padding out as fast as I tried to push it in. But a warning pressure by Nicki on her nostrils was enough to make her behave. Her tongue lay passively in the bottom of her mouth as I poked and pushed the big wad of cotton in. It was quite a tussle, too, since there was so much. When I had her mouth packed about as full as I thought it could go, I paused and asked the silent figure behind our victim,

"Isn't that enough?" Nicki shook her head. "Well, how much more? Surely not all of it?"

She nodded. Even though she could not see her, her helpless victim sensed her answer and moaned faintly. Eager to oblige, I went back to work and finally got all the cotton stuffed into my subject's gaping mouth. While I was on the latter stages, Nicki was tearing off a piece of adhesive tape a little over two feet long.

As soon as I was through, she placed the centre of the tape on the cotton as it bulged between her victim's teeth brought the ends back along her cheeks and got ready to pull them tight. But the way she did it startled me, she actually placed a knee against the back of her mother's neck and pulled with all her might. Poor Vicki writhed convulsively and her eyes flew open in anguish; I saw her strain to make a sound of protest, but so tight was the gag that not the least sound emerged. By now, the cotton was well inside her teeth and the latter, due to the pressure on the hinges of her jaw, was actually forced to bite down on it very definitely. The pressure must have been terrific. Quickly Nicki removed her knee and lapped the ends. Then she took the roll of tape and passed the adhesive three times completely around her head and through her mouth, to make sure the gag could not slip even the slightest; then she tore off the tape and smoothed the end.

She stepped back and put her leather-covered head on one side as she admired her handiwork. Her mother's face was a study; her eyes were wide open, in a fixed stare that I later learned was the "Gag-Look" and a tear was running from the corner of each eye, while her lips were drawn away from her teeth in a mirthless grin. But in spite of the obvious pain, there was also a look of very definite excitement on her face. Apparently satisfied, Nicki walked around and stood a few feet away from and squarely in front of her mother.

"Hmm, looks like your mother doesn't wholly approve," I grinned.

Nicki nodded. Suddenly she stepped back and signalled "wait." With positively fairy-like steps that her towering heels enforced, she hurried out of the room, her pretty hips rolling with a delightful crispness at each tiny pace. At this point, Nicki bustled back into the room and came mincing over. In her hands she had some vague black leather shape. She gave it to me and gestured toward our miserable victim. A glance showed me that it was a discipline helmet.

"You want me to put it on?" I asked.

My pretty companion nodded.

"This," I announced, "will be a pleasure. Read about these things, but I never thought I'd have the pleasure of lacing one into place."

It took me a moment or two to figure out how it went on, then I stepped toward the helpless figure in the chair. As soon as she saw me coming, she began shaking her head again.

"What's the matter? Ropes not tight enough?" I asked.

That did it. She stopped immediately and made no effort to hinder me as I slipped the helmet into place over her head and face.

As I did so, I noticed that it was very heavily padded over the ears. So, as I began to lace it down the back, I asked Nicki,

"Is this the helmet that cuts off your hearing?"

She nodded.

"In other words, when I'm through, our willing subject here will be deaf, dumb and blind?"

"Yes," she signalled.

I continued lacing the helmet into place, smoothing the wrinkles as I did so.

The helmet was a beautiful piece of work, fitting the wearer's head like skin. The only openings in the front were the nostrils in the well shaped nose, so the wearer would have no difficulty in breathing. The neck part continued down in the form of quite a high, stiff collar, shaped to be higher in the front than in the back, for wearer to hold chin high. Finally, I got the lace pulled tight and tied the ends in a bow. There was still about an inch opening in the lace at the back, but I decided that that was intentional, just as many corsets are made to have a slight opening in the lacing, even when fully pulled in.

"Okay?" I asked Nicki.

To my surprise, she shook her head and came over. She began smoothing and working the helmet all over her mother's helpless head, aiming always at the lacing. Her pretty little hands in their tight brown gloves formed a lovely contrast to the glistening black kid.

In a little while, she pantomimed at me to work on the lace again, while she continued to smooth the leather into place. I tried to stop her a couple of times, being afraid that the lace would break, or we would do her mother some permanent damage. But she wouldn't hear of it. When she finally stepped back, satisfied, the lace was closed from top to bottom and the tightly stretched leather gleamed like satin.

Vicki's silent, helpless head looked almost like a portrait head in ebony. One thing that had puzzled me slightly was a metal eyelet sewn to the exact top of the head. I understood the use of this when Nicki went to the supply of bondage material and selected a length of rope. She brought it back and signalled to me to tie it around Vicki's ankles. I did so. Then she took the other end and passed it through the eyelet and began pulling. I could see that Vicki was fighting her, but it was useless, slowly, inexorably, her head was drawn back and back until I thought her neck must break. When Nicki tied the rope, had her mother been able to see straight forward from her eye sockets, she would have not looked straight up into the air, but considerably behind her. With a pretty gesture, Nicki stepped back and made a feint of dusting her gloved hands off.

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